A Black Cat has Three Lives
by NebulaHeroine
Summary: Trafalgar Law has met many destinies throughout his life - one was the lover of his mother, one a peasant in Spain. Regardless, there will always be one deed making him feel great regret and guilt. /DofLaw KidLaw complications, odd language, and a pinch of French!/
1. Chapter 1

**Hiya people of the internet! C:**

**This is a very random fic I've been writing on. O_o**

**It will contain mostly DofLaw in the beginning and later focus on only KidLaw so... :3 And it depicts the time around 1970-90 in Paris. (NOT historically correct, gomen.)**

**I might perhaps dump this fic if it bores me, but for now it shall be a background-fic which will be updated VERY slowly. (notice the word very there, thank you). :) It will probably be updated in 3 months at the very fastest. (Probably even later, huehue).**

**Well yea, I don't have a beta and this is not a very planned fic but is actually a very rushed fic hahaha. :'D**

**ALSO THANKS TO TheBlackSpirit FOR HELPING ME WITH THE FRENCH GRAMMAR. :)**

**I hope someone will read this and enjoy this regardless.**

**~Enjoy~**

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From: Trafalgar Law  
Rue de la Tour, 75016 Paris, France

To: Nico Robin  
35 Central Avenue, Brighton, England

August 23, 2006  
Dear Mademoiselle Nico,

I am writing you in outmost desperation, and must apologize for choosing you as my final resort to solve this mess. You must understand that I barely have anyone else to turn to, Ilona is merely 13, Conis has recently given birth to her very own child and none of my colleagues would understand this entanglement. I am sure this will be a request like no other and I entirely understand if you aren't to complete it, regardless I hope you will take your time to read my letter.

As you perhaps recognize, this letter is several pages long. You must understand, I have a long story to share, and the bunch of papers you are holding in your hands are more like a short summary of what actually happened. Before announcing my request, I want to enlighten you of my life before the late autumn of 1993, when we first met. Whilst reading my story, you should realize why I need you to know everything – everything about me and my past, that is. Without knowing any valid reason, I doubt any sane person would deliver a request such as mine.

However, so far I have only been writing something you Englishmen would call "gibberish". Therefore, let me go on and tell you about a life I have nearly forgotten everything about, a life that perhaps fully started in April, 1971.

In April, 1971, I was roughly six years old at the time, my father died in a stroke. It had been quite unexpected, my father had always been a healthy man you see, despite being a hard-working journalist. Yet he died, on a clear April morning. I remember it vaguely myself, it has been over 36 years after all.

Only a few weeks later my late mother and I moved to Montmartre in Paris. I am going to refer her as "Maman" despite it contradicting with all kinds of courtesy I ever have been taught, simply because I always called her that never anything else. Her real name is completely irrelevant, so I do not see a reason to mention it.

Regardless, we moved to Montmartre in the very same spring of 1971. You are familiar with this area, as you neighbored me starting from 1993. However, to paint an accurate picture of what I experienced, I intend to briefly account for you how I experienced the area. Maman was an artist you see, she painted and wrote poems. Before my father's death, her paintings would express great happiness and love. But when he died, the paintings changed. Melancholy, destruction and obscurity became the main themes for her works. Her art stopped selling as frequently and immensely as before. Later in my life I realized it wasn't because of the changed themes, but the economic crisis pestering France at the time.

Maman and I would often saunter to Place du Tertre in order to sell her works. She would hold my tiny hand, hum on a soft melody with her harmonious voice, whilst holding a pile of paintings and poorly printed poems. I remember admiring her, her accurate way of painting, her confident manner of speaking, her charming smile, but mostly her eyes. The dark eyes, almost black, a complete contrast to the naturally blonde and curly hair. She was a beautiful woman, delicately thin but lusciously curvy. She may have been a beautiful woman, but she was not suited to be a mother, that I can tell you, Mademoiselle Nico.

I clearly remember the other artists, the kind men and the cat-like women. I remember the taste of poorly made crêpes with different kinds of berries, as that is what I usually ate while waiting for Maman to sell her works. I would chase around some cats, chitchat with the artists, jump on the uneven cobblestone streets, count warts on old people's faces and cling to Maman and ask her when we were going home. All in all, I was a quite bored child. There weren't many other children around and simple games tended to bore me to no extend. Later in my life, I discovered the wonders of books.

Spending my days with sappy procedures, I would often catch myself staring at Maman. She would desperately try to sell her works, almost arguing with the customers in order to get them sold or using her devious charm to make things go her way. Her evenly round birthmark beneath her left eye, the small dimples on her cheeks, her dark eyes shining in artistic cognizance – all of this has been neatly engraved into my heart. The cold springs, the oddly warm Septembers, the leaves dancing in the gust, the grass rustling. Ivy desperately climbing up the walls to our home, Maman's melodic laughter echoing in the staircase, summers filled with wine and tobacco, winters with cold feet entangled underneath a slightly gooey blanket. This was my childhood in Montmartre.

As you perhaps notice, Mademoiselle Nico, we were not blessed with wealth, Maman and I, despite my father's early death. He hadn't earned so much and therefore we had not inherited so much money either. Of course, our small flat was utterly picturesque and had its charm. But exactly like Maman, the apartment was not suited for children. Not once did I step on nails perking up from the uneven flooring. Not once was there wine across the floor or lit cigarettes left on inappropriate places. And not once was it me who took care of these things.

At some point in my childhood – unfortunately I cannot recall when exactly – Maman's closest company had become the wine bottle. I remember being a school boy, but I can't seem to remember exactly which year this occurred. I do remember sitting and reading school books, hearing Maman and some unknown man enter the building. Suddenly it had become a common procedure; Maman bringing over some unknown men and being loud and noisy, until they suddenly quieted down and only moans were heard. I remember curling up underneath my blanket, trying to focus on the book I was reading. I remember the growl from my stomach, reminding me that Maman once again had forgot to make me dinner. Or lunch.

Before this, I had gotten my own room. You can imagine a child's delight when getting a room of their own. I experienced the same kind of euphoria. Maman's old, small, claustrophobia-inducing atelier became my room. My bed barely fit in there, and every morning and night I had to change clothes in the living room because of the lack of space. Fortunately, I was a child who didn't care for toys, and all of my wrinkly books fitted underneath my bed. Later in my life I have come to the conclusion that I would perhaps have enjoyed toys more, if not Maman would have gotten so enraged every time I asked for some. Of course, she did this because she felt guilty that she couldn't give me what other mothers could give their children.

I presume you start to understand, Mademoiselle Nico, how my childhood was spent. At an early age I learnt to make my own breakfast, lunch and dinner. At an even earlier age I learnt to be quiet and not to question Maman's drinking. And even before that, I had learnt that Maman wasn't like other children's mothers. And that it was my duty to take care of her.

When I hit my teenage years, Maman suddenly grew very jealous at me. I don't know whether it is correct to call it jealousy, but I experienced her sudden childish rudeness as jealousy. When I was 13, my face started to change. It wasn't a child's face anymore, neither was it the face of a grown man. I was something in between. And my face had decided to grow in an uneven pace, resulting in me having an oddly balanced face. Maman found this very funny;

"_Ah mon dieu! Look at yourself, mon cher! You look like you belong to the zoo! It really is incomprehensible that you are my child!"_

"_Ah, je suis mort de fatigue, mon cher! Do you even know how tough it is to be as beautiful as me? Oh my, oh my… I do envy you, Law. If I would look like you, life would be much easier!"_

"_Look at my son! He looks so different from me right? Ugly? Mais non, non! Not ugly, just… different. Ah, mon cher Law, don't look so sad now! Je t'aime, non?"_

She never stopped with these comments, not even when I turned fifteen and my face was in balance again. However, she had not started with these comments until she heard about my success in school. There was one incident when we bumped into one of my teachers at the plaza when I just had turned 13 – it was a very gray day and Maman had exceptionally sobered up. Place du Tertre had barely any visitors that day but we still happened to run into my math teacher, who adored me to no extend. I happen to be mathematically talented, you see, Mademoiselle Nico. I had not known about this myself, before I suddenly was told to solve more difficult math problems than the rest of the class. I had simply thought that math was supposed to be ridiculously easy.

Regardless, we ran into my math teacher. He recognized me immediately and started to praise me in front on Maman. Frankly, Maman hadn't at the time had any idea of how exceptionally good my grades were, she had only been busy with herself and all of her nighttime companies. I remember being proud but also scared – proud of my own success and ridiculously scared of Maman's opinion. My teacher's praises didn't stop, and Maman answered them with faked, proud nods. I simply stood there, wanting a hole to appear underneath my feet, letting me disappear from the whole situation. After a while Maman stopped my math teacher with a gracious gesture, blinking apologetically and smiling beautifully;

"_I always knew mon cher was a genius! But isn't all of this theory boring? I would have wished for a more colorful son – not a strictly theoretical one. I mean, that's just boring. Ennuyeux, mon cher, ennuyeux."_

You should have seen the face of my teacher, Mademoiselle Nico. It was something you Englishmen would call "priceless". A few weeks later the same teacher came to me during one break and told me he wanted to talk with me. He asked me whether I was holding myself back at school or not, because of my mother's opinion on science. I replied that I had no idea what he was talking about, before I hurriedly excused myself and practically ran to my lesson. It had been embarrassing, so indescribably embarrassing. What could I possibly tell him? Would the truth have made a difference? I mean, even if I held myself back I got admirable grades, so it did not matter. And regardless, as I grew up I still stopped holding myself back – mostly as a weak rebellion against Maman's empty-headed opinion.

Don't get me wrong, I did not hate Maman. She was one of the few things I actually had in my life. Despite these rude comments about my appearance and my interests in theoretical subjects, she was my mother. I recall a few times when I questioned our great differences in genes – especially if she criticized me for something. How was it possible that I – the ugly, dark-haired, caramel-skinned boy – was the son of the golden-haired, dark-eyed and luscious woman? We were direct contrasts. She had pale skin, delicately pale, and dark eyes, equal to delicious dark chocolate. I have pretty dark skin, and gray eyes, indifferently gray and anxious as the stormy sea. Her face was soft, a small round nose, softly shaped cheeks and a round, perfect forehead. My face, in other hand, consists of sharp lines, a sharp nose, sharply shaped cheeks and a somewhat edgy forehead. I often wondered how we were mother and son. I think she also wondered the same thing – on another level perhaps.

Well, moving on from these pointless drabbles. I apologize if this bores you by the way, but I do hope you comprehend why this is so utterly necessary.

Regardless, occasionally during restless nights, when Maman was drunk with another unknown man, I would lie underneath my gooey blanket and fantasize. You see, sometimes I experienced odd, nostalgic feelings, especially if I saw a fireplace. So I would stay up and analyze this sensation. I came to the conclusion that I felt like something was missing in my life – something huge, something important. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling someone hold my hand and hearing someone sing a lullaby. However, each time I woke up there was no one there, and Maman and the unknown man had already fallen asleep. It drove me mad.

Some other times, I would ignore the nostalgia and instead fantasize about Maman not being my real mother, but the evil twin of my real mother. I would imagine I was adopted or kidnapped, my real parents waiting for me somewhere far, far away. I thought it wasn't possible for a mother to treat her child like this. If I only would have known the truth back then.

Then, just before turning 14, my imaginations changed. I started thinking of boys in my class, even some of my closer friends, and it was not in a friendly manner, Mademoiselle Nico. It was at that age I discovered my interest in men. I had recognized my disinterest in girls a long time ago, and thought it was because my interest in knowledge was far greater than anything else. I thought I wasn't interested in love at all. That was until I one night caught myself thinking of myself and a friend of mine doing more than friendly actions. And these imaginations disgusted me greatly, yet fascinated me awfully much.

It felt like my whole soul had turned on fire, burning with sinful desire. So suddenly it had occurred, so suddenly it in all honesty startled me. I knew there were others like me, many of the artists I had met preferred men over women – but I still felt very scared. Mostly I felt lonely though; I could not tell my friends, nor could I tell Maman. So, like a trapped bird in a cage, I anxiously flied around only to notice that there was nothing else but the walls of the cage to see. The sensation of suffocation was taking over me, strangling me, making it hard for me to breathe. Like any other human, I craved for love. I wanted to feel the excitement of a first kiss as much as anyone else. I wanted to feel the warmth of a romantic hug. I wanted to feel the nervousness of confessing my love. I was like any other human, the only exception being that I preferred people of the same gender as me.

It became worse when people expected me to be interested in girls, expected me to get involved with them, expected me to find a girl of my own as well. I forced myself, knowing that my true interest was sinful and wrong, simply a disgrace to the rest of the world. Hanging out with these girls, forcing myself not to act suspicious around my friends, keeping my burning soul hidden – it was all painful for me. Close to unbearable.

When it was at its worst, I thought it would be over. I was wrong, because only a few weeks later Maman met _him._

It was the fall of 1978, I had just turned 14, when Maman introduced me to him. Donquixote Doflamingo – the man who would change my life for both the better and the worse. It had been a very different autumn, Maman had been quite sober and had been much more productive than usual. She had exceptionally been out to dinners and returned sober. She had started to wake up early in order to make me breakfast and had started to prepare my school lunches again. It had been a nice alternation to the usual mess. And the timing had been ideal; I didn't have to worry about house chores while feeling suffocated in my own burning desire.

However, Monsieur Doflamingo was not a nice alternation to the usual mess. In fact, he made my burning desire even worse. His charismatic charm, his blonde hair, his low, murmuring chuckle. Despite being 15 years older than me, he worked like the fuel for my fire, making my desire burn even worse than before. I know it was a childish fantasy, Mademoiselle Nico, but I was 14, in an age where hormones play devious tricks on one's body. Unfortunately, it only became worse as I grew up.

I remember the afternoon I met him. Sunrays were piercing through our ridiculously thin, white curtains, which was very refreshing for the end of a pretty stormy October. It was the middle of the day on a rarely calm Sunday. Maman had been out for a walk while I had stayed at home and read a book. Before leaving out, Maman had told me that she in all probability might bring some company over and wanted me to be at my best. Honestly, I had not expected her to bring over a man whom she was in a serious relationship with. She had not been in a serious relationship ever since my father had died after all.

So when Doffy – I apologize for my rudeness, Mademoiselle Nico, but that is what I always called him – stepped over the threshold to our picturesque, tiny apartment, I was shocked beyond words. He was a rich businessman from Spain, who had a very strong Spanish accent when talking French – never was he grammatically incorrect when talking however. But that was not the only thing that shocked me, no, mostly it was his tallness. He was so unnaturally tall, so tall I've come to the conclusion that he in all probability suffered from acromegaly. Acromegaly is an illness mostly caused by a tumor in the anterior pituitary, which forces the anterior pituitary to produce more hormones than intended. Since one of the main hormone productions of the anterior pituitary is somatotropin – growth hormone – this usually results in gigantism.

Well, regardless, his tallness was one of his most striking features. He was easily over two meters tall and had to constantly be curved inside of most buildings. Otherwise he was a relatively handsome man with a very – hm – unique fashion style, to put it sensitively. He was deviously charming and was even more talented at seducing people than Maman, and I quickly realized that it wasn't Maman who had seduced him but the opposite. What he ever wanted from Maman, is unknown to me even to this day. He wasn't a man who seduced people without anything on his mind. And it was very obvious that Maman never actually interested him that much. Perhaps he believed she would become a great artist one day? Unfortunately I cannot tell, that man is still today like a mystery for me.

Ironically enough the first thing Doffy said when he entered the apartment was something along the lines of;

"Oh! What a handsome son you have, m'amie!"

I had peacefully sat by the windowsill and read about the human anatomy. This kind comment about my appearance startled me a little, but also made me very bashful and shy. An elder, handsome man was complementing my external appearance. You must understand that my mother had devoted a lot of time to make me believe I was ugly and boring, so I felt ludicrously flattered when he complemented me. Other people never complemented anything else but my intellect. Still to this day, I don't feel particularly beautiful, but still much more beautiful than I ever felt with Maman.

When Doffy had entered the apartment, I had slowly closed my book, a blush resting on my tanned cheeks. Jealousy adorned Maman as Doffy smiled widely at me, asking me what I was reading. Just when I was about to reply Maman interrupted me.

"Oh, my son is simply a boring humdrum, he's probably reading about something disgustingly boring. Right mon cher?"

When Maman asked me this, I could hear all the hope in her voice. She wanted me to agree with her, she wanted me to call myself boring and uninteresting. Of course I went along with her act – I always did.

"Bien sûr, Maman. It's simply a book about the human anatomy, focusing on the endocrine system."

As always, I expected no one but myself to understand what I was saying. Maman was not a very educated person and her alley consisted of the knowledge of art and only the knowledge of art. I was taken aback when Doffy smiled and hummed at me, walking next to me, bending down over my scrawny frame and catching a small glimpse of the script in my tanned hands.

"The endocrine system? What hormones are you currently reading about? Ah. I see, metabolic ones. Hmm… Leptin non?"

The Spanish accent was strong and charming. I could not see his eyes behind his odd, slightly objectionable sunglasses, but despite this I could tell that he meant well. I looked over at Maman who stood behind him, arms crossed and a sulking expression upon her graceful face. Hesitantly I dared to answer the question.

"Oui. This book doesn't go into depth that much, and leptin is still a much researched hormone. It is just briefly mentioned. Je m'appelle Law by the way, and you?"

"Donquixote Doflamingo – but it's okay to call me Doffy. It's easier for you Frenchmen to pronounce anyway."

And that was how I met one of my many destinies, Mademoiselle Nico.

Doffy set not only my soul on fire, but the whole me. My thoughts, my body, my everything. I was burning with childish fantasies, listening to Maman's and his conversations through the thin walls, imagining myself in Maman's place. Every single time Doffy asked me to join him and Maman to a trip somewhere, my whole body ached with desire. However, I knew what Maman would have thought about that, so I usually came up with silly excuses instead. Often when the two of them left, I watched them a long time until I could not see them, my soul clinging after Doffy's shadow. I was slowly growing desperate – insane.

Doffy had made Maman sober up, had made her sell her works again, had made her kinder towards me, had made sure things actually worked. He had literally saved us from misery. He lived in a small rental flat in the center of Paris, until he rented himself an apartment in Montmartre instead. Thanks to this he was able to visit us more frequently, making both me and Maman go insane because of his devious charm. He was a very skilled enchanter, enchanting anyone into his pace. He was not even uniquely handsome or comely – he just had that special something.

This time when the nights would be noisy, filled with laughter and wine, I would not mind. Listening, imagining, hoping. Those three were the occupations keeping me happy and content at the time. I was happy with just imagining myself in Maman's place, or hoping that he would storm into my room and embrace me. But I knew it was not enough – it was never enough. Love is like a drug – no matter how much of a cliché that sounds like. You think you have enough of it, but you need more, more and simply _more. _

Sometimes Doffy would bring me alone with him somewhere. We could fly some kites, take a stroll in the park, go fishing, make bark boats or even go to the library to read. The first time he took me on a day trip with him, he made sure that I felt comfortable all the time. I thought it was really odd until he voiced his thoughts out loud.

"_I know I'll never be like your deceased father, but I hope we still can be friends."_

He tried to be like my father. Or that was what I thought. It felt incredibly odd though – since he still was only 15 years elder than me and so much younger than Maman. But these small trips and fatherly comments slowly toned down my fire-like desire and slowly made me accept him as an elder brother to me; I couldn't simply see him as my father.

Surprisingly enough, Doffy and Maman's relationship lasted two years, the longest relationship Maman had been in since my father's death. The first six months I spent imagining, hoping and listening – burning with a sinful, childish, diabolic desire. Quickly and swiftly, like the anxious wind in the chilliness of September, my desire died out and my relationship to Doffy changed. Soon I was happy to have him in my life as an elder brother, and did not wish any closer kind of relationship with him anymore.

These two years were spent quite peacefully and I felt that we had melted into some kind of family – Doffy, Maman and I. Oddly enough I felt relatively safe. Mostly I felt loved though, which I hadn't done in ages. Doffy would make sure to compliment me often, admire me for both my intellect and appearance. I remember being a little shy about these compliments, always telling myself that he was only joking and that he never really meant what he said. By then I had learnt never to take compliments seriously, that was the effect Maman's rudeness had had on me.

Happiness was something I tended to feel, or perhaps some kind of weird delight. My life was in balance and my odd desire for men in general had died out. Once again I lived without any kind of interest in romance or sexual relationships, and mostly focused on my studies and on spending time with my family. Yes, family. I had not had a proper family for years and I planned to take the chance while I had it, because strangely enough, I did feel like Maman and Doffy would break up anytime soon. The sensations lingered behind me, clinging to my shadow, reminding me of Maman's alcoholic period. I had become very paranoid and anxious and rarely believed anyone or anything – but I was still content with life.

And in the middle of all this tranquil – this genuine peace and repose – something had to ruin it. Suddenly, during the summer before I turned seventeen, my desire returned, ever the burning, suffocating sensation. And this time the desperate convictions to myself did not work; no matter how much I tried to tell myself that Doffy was and only would be my elder brother the sensation never changed. It was there, suffocating me once again, literally grilling me alive, roasting me, feasting on me, distracting me. Once again insanity found its way to accompany me and once again I caught myself hoping, imagining and listening. I devoted my life to Doffy, Mademoiselle Nico, I did my everything to make him notice me.

Then, suddenly, there was one rainy night two weeks before my birthday, just before I turned seventeen. Maman had left the apartment and would be gone for the whole weekend; she had a business trip or something of the like. She had been in a great hurry and had packed a suitcase quickly and then left, so she had just briefly told me that she was going to meet some other artists and discuss about opening a gallery and something. In all honesty, I never had the patience to listen to all of Maman's blabbering. And art has never interested me either.

However, this rainy night I spent alone. Doffy had not come for a visit the whole week and it had been a quite peculiar week overall. My unconsciousness guessed that Doffy and Maman were fighting and it was literally celebrating because of this small knowledge. But this night, however, I spent alone, reading a boring novel, listening to the rain smattering down on the roof, hoping for something unimaginable to happen and imagining how the scenes in the novel looked like. As you perhaps notice, I was once again occupying myself with my usual procedures – listening, hoping and imagining.

In the middle of my odd trance, there was a knock at the door. I remember shrugging lazily, thinking that it might be a vendor or some artist asking about Maman or something. However, when opening the door I did not see anything of the like I had guessed. No, Mademoiselle Nico, outside stood a soaked Doffy, smiling gently at me, almost apologetically.

Astonishment showered over me like the rain showered over Doffy's majestic figure.

"Huh? Doffy? Ah, Maman is not home right now I'm afraid", I replied, looking up at his somewhat pitifully painted face. He looked inconsolable for the moment – so vulnerable.

"I know", the reply was short and gentle. "May I come in? I'm cold."

We settled down in the living room, before I quickly realized that the man needed a towel and probably something nice to drink. Quickly running after a towel from Maman's room, I swiftly came back and handed it over to Doffy who in turn smiled gratefully. Then I asked him what he wanted to drink and he answered – after a moment of thought that is – that a glass of red wine would do well. Then he quickly changed his mind and asked after something stronger. I replied to him that I did not have the key to the cellaret. He simply grunted as a reply.

"Why are you here Doffy?" I had once again settled down on the small sofa in our apartment and picked up the book from the coffee table, closing it with a gentle hand, mentally noting which page I had been reading on.

"You perhaps noticed that your mother was upset. She is upset at me. We are currently having a small… hm… quarrel", Doffy did not answer my question directly, and instead slithered around the straightforward inquiry. He dried himself with the towel that looked tiny in his gigantic hands, until he put it aside. "She thinks I don't pay enough attention to her. She is right, because I have other things distracting me."

He gave me a piercing look – I could see it despite his weird sunglasses – making it quite obvious what he meant. I remember the odd knot appearing in my stomach, making me feel nauseous of nervousness and eager of curiosity. A sudden heat rose to my head, making my cheeks oddly read and warm. Doffy chuckled a little at my reaction and I faked a small cough in order to fill the silence.

"I… I see. Work right?" I played stupid, despite knowing that he knew that I had understood. And a small part inside of me was still playing against me, insisting that Doffy probably was playing with me, or that I was just imagining things as usually.

"Well, I wouldn't call it work, but some people do", he smirked. I swallowed nervously in return. It felt so wrong, yet so right, so weird, yet so normal. Maman would get mad, I thought. She would kill me and roast me alive. And what if Doffy is just playing with me and I make a fool of myself? These kinds of thoughts conquered my mind. I was so, so nervous and anxious, but also so very eager and excited.

It was very wrong.

Suddenly Doffy's hand was on my thigh and I knew I could not stop myself even if my common sense was literally roaring at me to stop. I had tried to suffocate my burning desire too long. It had to come to an end. I needed it to come to an end. In the back of my mind, I had always known the small indication of his compliments. The trips, the presents, the compliments… I guess Maman also had known. It was so wrong, he was 15 years elder than me and I was only sixteen at the time. Regardless my wait had to come to an end. And it was going to come to an end. So I let him kiss me. I let him caress me. I let him touch me where I had never let anyone else touch me. I let him make love to me.

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~Thanks for Reading~


	2. Chapter 2

**Hiya! (:**

**This took me forever to write x _ x I had expected to get this done sooner, but then I was overwhelmed with new plot bunnies and stuff and this was delayed ;A; Sorry~**

**BUT OMG THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING. I was sure this was going to be hated because it it a pretty odd plot, if I'm completely honest, but you guys still read it! THANK YOU *hugs you***

**Now I'm going to reply to some reviews:**

**viv-heart: Yup, letters are the best in real life too. AA THANKS VIV-SENPAI *bushes* Doffy will always be an ass, but he makes fics interesting, so I'll keep him in my works~ And you won't get to know about the favor in a long, looooong time, kukukuku :D Thanks for reviewing!**

**Traffy: Well, cuz I am bad at keeping promises, so I rather promise way too little than promising way too much ( u v u )AND WHY ARE YOU SO KIND?! SAYING SO NICE THINGS ABOUT MY FIC?! *blush* THANK YOU. **

**AMBher: AAAA thank you soooo muchhh for the nice review! And it is heartbreaking to hear about people who are ashamed of themselves because of their sexual orientation ( u A u ) and here's a lil update for you! Thanks for reviewing!**

**suheo1601: oh please don't apologize! I'm just super honored that you left a review! (: AND THANKS FOR THE KIND THINGIES YOU SAID AAA. (I'm sorry it took forever to update this, sorry if you waited all this time I feel so horrible) thanks once again for reviewing! :)**

**Itavita: Everyone loves the DofLaw huehuehue... Ok so yes this took an eternity to update, and I'm sorry :c BUT THANKS FOR REVIEWING *hugs***

**higitsune84tails: miehehe, I know it's hard to find DofLaw, that's why I write it 8) omg omg omg no your English does not suck I suck for not updating sooner, thanks soo much for your review it made me giggle of happiness! x3**

**luciole eteinte: Just tell me if there is something you don't understand, and I'll try to explain it! I know how difficult it is to read in English, English is namely my third language! And feel free to point out if I make grammatical errors in French, I hate being wrong, so it'd be nice if you could tell me when I'm wrong! :) Thanks for the review!**

**loogoo: AAA THANK YOU FELLO DOFLAW SHIPPER. Tho it didn't end all too well for Doffy and Law after all, as you will see in this chappie :( But THANKS for the review! :)**

**Ok so I'll probably warn you guys that there will be mentions of rape and abusive relationships in this one, so if either trigger you, read with care! :) [ppsssst I'm sorry about this chapter it's a bit lame, especially if you are a hardcore DofLaw shipper]**

**~Enjoy~**

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When Maman returned on the incoming Monday, Doffy had already left me. We had spent the weekend together, talking about a future in Spain, giggling about stupid and lame jokes and discussing medical theories about cancer and viruses. In contrary to Maman, who only appreciated the beauty of art and art alone, Doffy had high thoughts about science and scientific knowledge. When I had shared my information about my own personal medical researches, I had been able to sense how Doffy admired me for my intelligence, as his enormous hand stroked my naked back with a gentle touch. "Tell me more, mon cher", he would encourage me.

I bet Maman had recognized my alternation in behavior and mood. I suppose it was a pretty discernable change, as my usual gloomy and withdrawn behavior had been replaced with a goofy behavior that involved false humming to dense songs. However, she did not question my changes once. Now, when I have overlooked my whole life, I have come to the conclusion that she probably was aware about my and Doffy's relationship all along. That, however, I had not known back then. I had simply lived in a fool's dream, being utterly naïve about everything. I had been blinded by my own eagerness.

And so our relationship persevered. We met secretly in the library, at Doffy's place, at the park or in certain stores we both knew Maman would never visit. At the same time Doffy continued to spend time with Maman, but their relationship wasn't nearly as passionate as before. Their relationship had actually grown a bit distant and calm, like the heat slowly fades away in the end of August after a hot, dry summer.

I recall feeling hurt that Doffy hadn't told Maman about our relationship, feeling as if he betrayed me every single time I heard their lips meet and part in the room next to mine. But every time it was our lips that met and parted, I felt my sensation of betrayal lift away, vaporizing like water does when you cook spaghetti. I was endlessly foolish, letting myself accept being treated like a rag. I was merely a second choice – and things would have stayed like that, if not Maman had discovered our relationship that frosty day in January, 1982. Doffy and I had managed to keep our relationship secret for nearly four months.

The weather was frosty that day. Maman had travelled to the countryside in order to help my sick aunt to watch the children. I remember it very well, because I recall interrogating Maman about the sickness, coming to a conclusion that it only was a flu going on, and that it most likely would be over within two weeks. Due to the exceptional situation, Doffy would be staying at our place. We both had been told that Maman would be gone the entire weekend and so we had planned a lot of activities to engage ourselves with.

It was only Saturday when Maman returned, cheeks red due to the biting cold. I remember it being a chilly, crystal-like morning, white flakes glittering whilst passing the illuminated streetlights. It had still been dark when Maman had come – it had been very early in the morning, and neither I nor Doffy had heard her enter the apartment. So when Maman opened the door to my room to wake me up for breakfast, she did find me, her son whom she despised so much, but he was together with her lover.

Screams filled the entire apartment. Doffy was desperately trying to defend himself. But he had angered a mother. The fact that startled me the most was how Maman didn't get angry at me, but at Doffy.

"Bête! I would understand that you'd cheat on me, moi! I would cheat on myself I had the chance! But that you had to violate my child!? Pull him into your horrible, disgusting world?! Manipulating him?! Get out before I kill you! Mourir!"

"Mais, ma chérie…" but that time Doffy's charming Spanish accent did not help him. He had angered a mother and when mothers are angered they cannot be stopped.

She continued to scream, then began to throw stuff at Doffy, all whilst I stood there in confusion and in lack of anything to do or say. I started to feel loved by my mother, and thought through my own actions. What I had done to my mother had been utterly disgraceful and wrong. I had made love with her lover. I should have comprehended that it was wrong and that I preferably should have stayed away from Doffy. But I was only sixteen when he came to me, looking at me as if I was beautiful, as if I was worth something at all.

I started to consider staying with Maman. What I had done had probably hurt her to no extent, and yet, she stood up for me, screaming at Doffy that he should be ashamed for taking advantage of a child. Her words also affected me, I also started to think of Doffy as a horrible monster who only had arrived to ruin our happy life. When I attempted to open my mouth to share my thoughts with the other two, however, I was cut off by my blonde, graceful yet mostly furious mother:

"And you…" her voice literally boiled with heat of anger as she turned to look at me. Her pale face was now read, but it was not due to the biting cold outside. "You whore. You scum. You've been nothing but a burden to me throughout your entire life. Your father insisted on having you, but you are merely a whore. I wish you would just go the nearest river and drown yourself. But I suspect that you'd rather whore around, stealing other people's lovers as well. Je espère que vous mourez seul."

_I hope you die alone._

Those words still ring in my ears when I sit alone at home. When that happens, I will immediately start to fear that I'll die and that I'll really die alone, just like Maman had hoped me to.

Never mind my personal blabbering, Mademoiselle Nico. After her outburst, however, I changed my mind and decided I wanted to go with Doffy after all. He respected me much more than Maman ever had tried to. So the argument ended with me and Doffy hastily getting dressed and escaping Maman's fury – the last time I ever saw my mother alive was when she stuck her head out of the window to our apartment and screamed after us:

"Die! I hope you die!"

And then I left France and moved in with Doffy the very same day.

I cried the whole flight, Doffy desperately trying to lift my mood with presents. I had been forced to leave everything behind, my books, my clothes, my friends, my education and my broken Maman. And I had felt so incredible horrible for what I had done to Maman that I just couldn't bear it. But when we came closer to Spain and I looked out through the window, I was astonished. The vista that greeted me made me take a deep breath of admiration. I remember thinking that Spain looked like a paradise in my eyes, despite the dry landscape.

Like I mentioned previously, Doffy was a rich businessman, and probably still is today. He owned a posh mansion in the countryside, but most of the time we spent in his expensive block of flats in Barcelona, in El Born. El Born was back then already a place where everybody wanted to live and of course Doffy wanted to show everyone he had enough money to live there. And of course he had to buy an entire block of flats for only himself and his servants. Yes, he had servants, Mademoiselle Nico. Incredible right? That a wealthy businessman from Spain would just happen to fall in love with my mother. I still am not sure whether it was all an intricate plan or just pure coincidence.

Well, regardless, I moved in with him in his block of flats in Barcelona. I hadn't thought things through; everything had been decided in the heat of fury erupting from my mother. So when I stepped out of the plane, a gust blowing into my face and I heard only Spanish around me, I got terrified. I realized what I had gotten myself into. I had moved to a foreign country, miles and miles away from my home. The farthest away I had ever been from my home, had been to the outskirts of Paris, and even then I had been with Maman. So now, when I found myself in Spain, surrounded by a different culture, a different language and different kinds of people, I got so terrified that the whole way to Doffy's apartment I clutched onto his suit so hard my fist turned white. You must have felt the same way, when you came to France, Mademoiselle Robin.

It took me a few weeks to get used to waking up in a big, comfortable bed next to another man. I wasn't so sure about my choices, but I tried to make the best of it. I had at least gotten my burning fire calmed down, and I did feel happy with Doffy, especially when he kissed me and told me he loved me. I felt special. Now, years later, I understand that he only took advantage of my innocence and my desperation. I was desperate for love at the time – hungry for looks filled with warmth instead of repulse.

At first I felt sick all of the time, due to nervousness. The servants and the other people living in the house that Doffy called his family, only spoke Spanish and their English was poor. I felt left outside when I saw how Doffy joked with them in Spanish, how they all looked at me, spoke about something and then laughed.

"Eres tan dulce, tan dulce", they used to tell me. Especially that one lady, Jora. One day I got tired of them and asked Doffy to buy me a dictionary. When I found out what the words meant, I just blushed. They were most likely charmed because of my foreign appearance – because even if my dark locks are a stereotypical Spanish feature, my facial lines were completely different from theirs. And my eyes were not the usual, stereotypical dark eye color. Then again, Doffy didn't look stereotypically Spanish either. Well, it's just generalizing to think like that. Mostly, their words just confused me.

After a while the knot I my stomach disappeared. I got used to be surrounded by words I didn't understand, and day by day, I learnt more and more Spanish, and the family and servants learnt more and more French. We finally started to communicate with all three languages we knew; mixing Spanish, French and English into a messy stir we somehow managed to understand each other.

I got used to the slightly different cuisine, I got used to people talking even faster than Frenchmen, I got used to the dances and the merry life. Never did I feel stop feeling guilty for what I did to Maman however. But there is one thing that I've done in mine life, that makes me feel even greater guilt. We'll come to that later.

Due to the fact that I couldn't speak Spanish very well, my studies had to be done at home at Doffy's place. Doffy hired a man to teach me, a man who spoke French fluently. But the lessons were still held in English, which I am grateful for. Otherwise my letter to you wouldn't be as easy to understand. And it is also thanks to the English practice I automatically got via the lessons, that I was able to get the job I have today. But it would have been better if the lessons still would have been held in Spanish.

Doffy was usually away during the days, taking care of meetings and other important things. But always when he came home again, he'd give me all of his attention. He'd ask me about my day in French, making the others envy me because they didn't understand what he said. During the entire dinner he would only speak with me and only in French – he barely replied when someone asked him a question, and even when he replied to someone else, his eyes rested on me. I didn't realize how possessive he was until it was too late – but mostly I should have realized how sick it truly was for him to take interest in me, who was fifteen years younger than him.

Some days Doffy wouldn't be busy at all, and he'd stay at home with me, watch me study and sit and eat breakfast with me. Some days, he'd tell the teacher to come back another day, and then he would spend every minute with me, doting me, giving me presents, playing piano for me.

Yes, Doffy played the piano. He was very skilled. His long fingers could easily play any piece I asked him to play. Sometimes he would compose pieces for me, and when I asked him to teach me, he'd calmly take me in his lap and we'd play together. I never got very good; I couldn't keep the beat and had huge trouble with switching from calm adagio to quiet pianissimo to fast and lively allegro. I am not very musical, and yet Doffy had the patience to sit hours on end with me, enduring my horrible attempts to play. I felt so loved with him, that I got blind and couldn't see his possessive behavior.

If Doffy couldn't make it home to the weekends, I would often do something else to keep myself entertained. Often I would go to the library as an old habit. Sometimes I'd do some groceries, first asking for money from Jora who usually did the groceries. I'd make sure to buy Doffy's favorite sweets and he'd be so happy he'd kiss every inch of my face until my whole face was wet.

"You're so adorable I could eat _you_, but you went through a lot of trouble to find these sweets for me, so I'll eat them instead", he used to say and kiss my ear. It was always the left ear.

There were some weekends when Doffy couldn't make it home and I had no motivation to go neither to the library nor the grocery stores. During those weekends I'd spend some time with Doffy's family. There was a girl that everyone called Baby 5, and we got along very well. I also chatted a lot with her friend Buffalo. The three of us became good friends, and I failed to see how it made Doffy angry. The family was big, and I got pretty well along with almost everyone except Vergo. Vergo made me incredibly annoyed, maybe because he had hated me from the very beginning for some unknown reason. Doffy noticed the tension between the two of us and scolded Vergo for acting childishly.

All in all, Spain charmed me.

Doffy and his family charmed me. The house we lived in charmed me. The nights spent together with a big family, playing games together, laughing merrily charmed me. The music ringing throughout the streets charmed me. The food, the lessons, the grocery store, the library… Everything. But mostly it was the parties Doffy threw.

When I had arrived in Spain I had been terrified of the new situation, but it had also scared me that other people probably wouldn't approve of my and Doffy's relationship. Everyone Doffy knew, however, were different from common people. They were accepting, and many of them were like us, preferred same gendered people or preferred both genders. There were also people who dressed up as another gender than their own.

It was those kinds of people who were invited to the parties.

The parties were always filled with glad chatter, weird yet enjoyable music and people who dressed up and were so incredibly kind. They all would smile at me and ask me if I was Doffy's new little husband. Doffy would smile and laugh, remarking that the wedding was yet to come. I think that the guests didn't know I still was under eighteen at the time. Or maybe they knew but didn't like to make a fuss about it. But the important thing to note here, Mademoiselle Nico, is that Doffy wished to marry a minor.

Regardless, it was the parties, which made me fall in love with Spain. All of the men dressed as women and all the women dressed as men were so festive and grand it made me giddy. Things became even more exciting when I tried cross-dressing too. It was a one-time-experience that I didn't enjoy very much, but it had been very exciting to try out, in my opinion. I was a mess in that age, I thought everything that happened in Spain was so wonderful. If someone would have asked me to cut off my arm, claiming it was a Spanish tradition, I would probably have done it.

This kind of merry life went on for an entire year. We had so much fun. I was so happy with my life, with all of the entertainment, with a luxurious life I only could have dreamed of as a child, with people who respected me and thought I was good-looking. The whole year has been engraved into my heart as an ecstatic memory. It was like I had entered my personal vision of heaven.

But like all things, that period had to come to an end. Being the hard-working businessman he was, Doffy soon got even busier, didn't make it home for dinner and rarely threw any wild parties anymore. Now when I asked him to play piano with me, he looked tired and would only play with me for a few minutes, until his hunger for me grew too big and we ended up in the bedroom.

Doffy changed, and he changed quickly. It made me scared and the knot reappeared again.

He must have noticed that I had gotten shaky again, and so he strained himself to spend more time with me. He bought me gifts and tried to come home for dinner. But soon he discovered that he was way too busy for a life like that, so he just kept on promising me he would try to solve things at work and that next month wouldn't be as busy.

When he comprehended that it was impossible – he had just way too much work and I was just way too lonely, he told Vergo to keep me company. The stern man who annoyed me to no extent would now sit with me and eat lunch, politely ask me about my day. Eventually I told Doffy how unhappy I was with the situation and told him I wished to come with him and work together with him.

"Ah, mon cher, that's impossible. You can't even speak Spanish properly yet and you should focus on your studies. Give Vergo another chance. Don't forget that I love you, I will solve things at work and things won't be as busy next month", Doffy simply replied. I couldn't do anything but nod and silently wish for things to change.

One afternoon I had finished my studies early. Vergo was once again there to keep me company, no one else was home; everyone else had work to do. I recall coming down to the ground floor, finding Vergo sitting in an armchair reading the newspaper. It was that day that things just went downright to hell, Mademoiselle Nico.

I sat down in the armchair in front of the stern man who annoyed me so indescribably much I probably would have attempted to kill him if not homicide would be considered a crime. Politely, we kept the discussion alive with boring topics. After a while Vergo suggested that we'd play chess together, and I reluctantly accepted his pitiful offer. Soon, however, I discovered that it hadn't been such a bad idea after all. We played hours on end, until I got thirsty and Vergo tired.

When we stopped playing we noticed that it already was time for dinner, and we knew other family members would start to arrive soon. We both stood up from the fancy fitments and stretched our limbs gently, we had been sitting for quite a while after all. Vergo said something about dinner, I didn't quite catch him, he talked too fast and used a weird Spanish word which I didn't understand. I remember how I just shrugged as a reply, attempted to walk to the kitchen but stumbled over the end of the carpet. The door to the house was opened at the exact same time when Vergo caught me in his arms, preventing me from falling.

It was Doffy.

And if I hadn't noticed the possessive behavior before, I noticed it at that very moment.

I saw how his eyes shone in anger, how his gaze switched from me to Vergo in complete panic, how he clenched his tanned knuckles so that they turned white, exactly like my knuckles had when I had clenched onto Doffy's suit when arriving to Spain.

I don't remember exactly what happened next, it might be that Doffy either walked over to us and tore us apart angrily or that Vergo pushed me away aggressively or that I pushed Vergo away aggressively. What I do remember, though, is how Doffy threw me into our bedroom, locked the door and how I heard Doffy roar at Vergo for several hours, until Doffy finally came in to our room and angrily kissed me, bit me and violated me until I couldn't even cry anymore.

That was when I got genuinely terrified, Mademoiselle Nico. I realized just how twisted he truly was.

I was locked in for several days after that incident and later Doffy hired a female teacher who only knew English. I was not allowed to speak to anyone in the family anymore. For several months I was not allowed to leave the house at all, and when I finally was permitted to leave the house, it was only to the closest grocery store.

I couldn't ask for help. My Spanish was too poor for that and people didn't speak English. I once tried to talk to my teacher, but she said she didn't want to talk with me about that. I suspect that Doffy had threatened her.

I was completely trapped.

I was in a foreign country with no money of my own, with no access to help and with nowhere to escape. If I had attempted to run away and hide somewhere in Barcelona, Doffy would have found me immediately.

Not only would Doffy lock me up, he slowly grew abusive and would hit me, kick me and even cut me for his own amusement. When I said I didn't want him to make love to me, he grew angry and forced me down and held me still with his enormously big hands. He stopped listening to me and my requests. Now when parties were thrown I would shy away, people recognizing my burst lips or the angry, red marks on my neck. Everyone knew that I was being violated and no one did a thing. Everyone in the family must have heard me cry and scream, beg and shout for help, but no one even asked me how I was doing. They just stopped talking to me like they were supposed to. And that made me incredibly hurt, Mademoiselle Nico. The people, whom I had spent so much time with, did not care when I was being hurt.

Always after hurting me, Doffy would leave me sobbing for myself, as if I wouldn't notice him leaving me all alone hurt and vulnerable. And then he'd return with gifts; chocolate, expensive clothes, books or anything else he thought I might like, as if these gifts would make up for his behavior. As if I'd still love him if he just bought me things I liked. But he was wrong, because every time he hurt me, I just grew to hate him more and more, until my heart became a black vessel filled with hatred.

Now when we played piano together, and he'd be affectionate like he had used to be, it just made me disgusted. I understood that it all had been act – I comprehended just how tricked I had been. He must have done it all on purpose; hiring a teacher who didn't teach me Spanish, giving me Spanish dictionaries that didn't provide enough words nor any grammar and insisting to speak French with me.

I recall wondering how many there had been before me. Had he done this to other young men before? Or young women? Had they escaped? Or had they committed suicide? Or had Doffy just snapped at them and killed them? Would he kill me too, if I said something I shouldn't say? Thoughts like these swirled through my mind, making me constantly nauseous and dizzy.

The dizziness made me lose my appetite. Soon I started to lose weight as well, resembling a dead person more than the living young man I should have been. The weight loss only made Doffy even angrier and he forced me to eat until I looked healthier again. Never did I lose the dark rings just beneath my stormy, gray eyes however.

The nights, which had used to be filled with passion and romance, were now taken over by violence and fear. The life that I had loved so much had been scattered just before my eyes and I tried my very best to get it back, trying to be kind to Doffy, trying to please him so he'd let me speak with the family again, with _my _family again. But no matter what I did for him, he still hit me, he still didn't stop when I begged him to and he definitely did not allow me to talk with any of the family members.

I caught myself thinking of Maman several times. I regretted that I had chosen to go with Doffy after all. Maybe things would have worked out between me and Maman in the end? I could have started to appreciate art and she science. We could have lived together like mother and son and taken care of each other. I could have continued in my school with my friends and probably found another boy to be with, eventually. Maman would have found a decent man and married him and my family wouldn't have been so broken. In fact, it wouldn't have mattered for me whether the family had been broken or not, as long as I wasn't forced to endure another second of this hell with Doffy.

The only thing keeping me alive throughout those years was education and knowledge. I kept myself alive in order to find answers to my questions. I wanted to know how to cure cancer. I wanted to know how to treat rheumatism. I wanted to know how to remove brain tumors without killing the patient. I wanted to know so much, and my hunger for knowledge was far greater than my hunger for death. The only risk was that my hunger for death increased day by day, whilst my hunger for knowledge stayed the same. I feared that someday my hunger for death would become greater than my hunger for knowledge, and that is the most tragic thing that can happen to any human being, Mademoiselle Nico.

And that probably would have happened, if not a certain incident would have occurred.

As I mentioned earlier, the only place I was allowed to visit was the nearest grocery store. I would go there immediately when Doffy wasn't at home and when I didn't have any lessons to attend to. I couldn't stay for too long, or Doffy would grow suspicious of me. Because of my lack of money, I couldn't buy much. Usually I ended up buying a package of pastilles, mostly because I pitied the shop keeper who never got any customers.

One day however, in the warm beginning of June, I came in and there was a commotion going on. A man with scarlet hair was emptying a big box of vegetables and placing the fresh vegetables in another box, the store's box. Behind him were many already emptied boxes and some unemptied ones. He seemed a bit mad at something, I didn't understand what he was saying, but he sounded angry, muttering for himself. The shop keeper only greeted happily, and as I replied back, the man with his scarlet hair looked up at me, looking somewhat vulnerable, bent down was he was. In reality, it was probably I who looked more vulnerable, with my swollen eye and bruised cheek.

That man's name is Eustass Kidd, another destiny of mine.

Despite my poor Spanish, Mister Eustass and I started to talk with one another pretty quickly. I noticed that he was like me, also preferring men over women, thanks to the way he looked at me. Doffy had looked at me as if I was beautiful, but Mister Eustass looked at me as if I was holy, as if he wasn't allowed to be near me. He admired me, but I admired him even more, despite the fact that he was only a poor peasant living in Marinaleda. He had only come to transport a friend of his vegetables, his friend's wife had namely just given birth to their first child.

The year was 1986, I was 21 years old and I felt in love again. I had lived nearly five years with Doffy, who had stolen my will to live. But Mister Eustass brought it back to me, with his happy smiles, his kindness and his wonderful, idiotic jokes. And when I finally told Mister Eustass about the bruises I kept having, he grew worried and angry at Doffy, immediately insisting that I should move in with him.

It took him the whole summer to convince me to move in with him in the countryside – I had learnt from my earlier mistake to never trust anyone who asks you to move in with them. But at the same time, I was desperate. I was terrified and broken, and was in need of someone taking care of me properly. I just wanted someone to hold me, Mademoiselle Nico.

The whole matter made me feel very conflicted. I really wanted to be with Mister Eustass, whom I felt safe with, who made me laugh and smile. But who knew if he would be a big lie as well? And then I'd be trapped in the countryside, even farer away from the airport that was my only way back to France. At the same time I just needed to get away from Doffy. I could not stand him, not a single part of him. Not his golden eyelashes, nor his eyes with the color of the ocean, nor his long fingers that played piano so incredibly beautifully. I could not stand his voice, his laughter, his grunts as he made love to me. What feared me, however, was the possibility that Doffy would find out how I had escaped and would find me and would kill both me and Mister Eustass.

Now thoughts like these occupied all the empty space left in my head, and I had no room for thoughts about death. One night, when Doffy came home late, woke me up in the middle of my sleep and started touching me, I made up my mind. I had had enough and would give Mister Eustass a chance.

In the middle of September I left Doffy, pretending I was going to the grocery store, when I actually jumped on the truck that belonged to Mister Eustass.

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~Thanks for Reading~


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy crap I'm so sorry for taking forever! :( **

**I just had my exams and now I'm sick and I've been to Rome and omg just a lot of stuff... I'm sorry :(**

**And wow! You guys are too amazing for sticking around! *hands over candy* I'm super duper grateful! **

**This is the final chapter of this fic - it's a rather short fic... But yeah. Things will get a bit messy in this chapter. I will reply to PM:s if anyone needs me to clarify things. **

**Otherwise I will thank everyone who has stuck around and reviewed/read/followed/favorited: THANK YOU! ( u v u )**

**Onto some reviews:**

**WR4T8: Oh no I'd never drop it! It was so short that I would have felt terrible for dropping it, keke! :) And holy cow you're too kind! *blushes* Thanks so incredibly much for your endlessly kind words~**

**jgrl68: Yeah I love DofLaw too... I should start writing some fluffier DofLaw too ;) Thanks for the most awesome review dear! ( o v o )**

**yoo: Go life! Haha! ((Did I translate it correctly? Please tell me I'm bad at translating stuff...)) Thanks for reading love! ( u v u ) **

**loogoo: Omg! Wow! I'm glad you enjoy this! Hopefully you'll like the KidLaw I added too! :) Thanks for reviewing it makes me super happy! :)**

**chisa suzuki: I'm SO sorry for taking forever again ;A; And woah! You're too kind! *hugs* Or if you don't like hugs then I'll just wave at you happily! :) And this is the last chapter so you'll learn about the request! ;) Thanks for the AWESOME review!**

**LittlestR: I'm still sorry about triggering you! :( But we talked about this! ( u v u ) I'm glad you felt better~**

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**So yup, this is the final chapter. Once again, thanks for sticking around and hopefully you've enjoyed reading this! ( o v o )**

**WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH**

**~Enjoy~**

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Adapting to the new lifestyle with Mister Eustass wasn't that easy. Like I mentioned previously, Mister Eustass lived in the countryside and earned his living by farming and breeding cattle. I, who was used to living in Paris or Barcelona had never held a shovel in my hand nor seen a real cow. So getting used to an ambient consisting mostly of wide, dry fields and some small, cottage-like houses far, far apart from each other, seemed rather impossible for me at the time.

Even more impossible for me was it to learn trusting Mister Eustass. Because I merely knew Spanish and Mister Eustass only knew Spanish, our communication mostly had consisted of gestures and facial expressions so far. The shop keeper had also helped us talk, especially if I had bought something a little more expensive. But now I lived with the man I barely was able to talk with. I knew his name, his occupation and that he was in love with me. Nothing else did I know, and nothing else did I actually need to know. I was anxious regardless.

The first few weeks I slept alone, studied Spanish and helped Mister Eustass with whatever he needed help with. I was pretty feckless when it came to cultivation, and thus Mister Eustass was forced to teach me everything, resulting with him only getting his job slower done. But he wanted me to learn – and it was also a very good exercise for us to learn communicating with each other. I learnt a lot of words and grammar, and after the first weeks at the rundown cottage-like house I had finally learnt enough to have a normal conversation. Of course, I wouldn't have learnt the language this quickly if it wouldn't have been for the situation I was in; I was surrounded by Spanish all of the time and got to practice it every minute of the day.

Often I would pronounce words in an odd manner, making Mister Eustass laugh at me, telling me how it actually was supposed to be pronounced. I would tell him to try speaking French and that would always make him stop laughing immediately. And he got even more embarrassed whenever I remarked that I also knew how to speak English. He had no right to laugh at me.

Like I mentioned, the first few weeks I had spent pretty much alone, the only exception being when helping Mister Eustass or eating dinner together. It had been indescribably awkward, both of us knowing we had so much to say to each other without being able to convey our words to each other. The unsaid words were floating around in the air between us, expressions trying to make up for our lack of knowing how to speak each other's languages. It had been impossible for me to possible convey my great gratitude to him with a mere smile.

Somehow, Mister Eustass knew to respect me, my personal space, my timidity, my need of being alone and taking my time before trusting him completely. I do not comprehend how, but in some enigmatic way, he apprehended to stay away from me and let me start the conversations. He must have understood that after what Doffy had done to me, I was not in the best emotional state to trust a stranger.

Weeks passed, and soon Mister Eustass was no stranger, however.

Learning how to speak Spanish properly had been the key, and soon we would work in the fields together. I would take the truck and drive to the village in the afternoon to study in the tiniest imaginable library. Incredibly enough, the picturesquely small library had only had books in English. I continued to read all about the human body, my thirst for knowledge had never been quenched. I spent hours on end reading about physics, biology, chemistry and mathematics to understand how we work. The more I read, the more I realized that there were so many things yet to discover. So many things that still hadn't been explained.

Whilst reading about physics, I learnt a lot of how certain machines worked. Whenever something Mister Eustass used broke down, I somehow managed to understand how to fix it. Sometimes, however, I only made the whole thing worse by thinking I knew how to fix it. In the end, I would still help Mister Eustass most of the time, and he'd appreciate my knowledge vastly.

Surrounded by the scents of olive trees, I learnt Spanish and about the human body. I was happy – in a very different way than with Doffy. With Doffy, I had been more excited about my new life, delighted about my first relationship with a man. But with Mister Eustass, who tenderly would hold my hand and wait for me to open up like he waited for his flowers to bloom in spring, I felt content. It was a calm kind of happiness – a gladness that I would warmly remember forever. I would never forget the nights when the dark sky lay down above us, Mister Eustass pointing out the twinkling stars for me, and I constantly cutting him off to correct him. I'd never forget the hurt look on his face when I had corrected him more than three times – he'd pout and nudge my face with a tint of irritation. I would never forget the nights I'd sleep next to him and feel safe in a way I had never felt safe before – not even with Maman and my father had I felt this imperturbable.

Mister Eustass' neighbors would occasionally drop by and we would tell them that I was a distant cousin of Mister Eustass'. I had been informed that the locals most definitely were not accepting about homosexuals at the time. Once, Mister Eustass told me about the pain he had experienced when growing up and recognizing his feelings. Every day in the village he'd get to hear how people like us were sins that deserved to be burned down. He had quickly learnt to keep his interest in men hidden in the countryside and had instead been more open about it in Barcelona, where he had had a few relationships before.

You do know how it is to fall in love, Mademoiselle Nico – everyone does. Whether it is an infatuation or love for a friend or family member, everyone falls in love in one way or another. And when I found myself staring at Mister Eustass working on the fields I realized that the love I had felt until then was nothing compared to the love I felt with him.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that man.

We balanced our life together so well, taking turns on cooking and house chores, driving to Barcelona together to sell the vegetables we had watched grow together. We went to church together, hearing about how our existence was a sin but endured it, knowing that going through hell together wouldn't be as bad as living separated from each other. I taught Mister Eustass to read, insomuch as he was almost illiterate. He did know the basics of reading and writing, but he was slow and constantly misread and misspelled countless of words. The poor man was not stupid – he was just uneducated.

Mister Eustass proudly told me about his origin – I once had asked him how it was possible that he was so incredibly pale. Mister Eustass would constantly burn his skin in the sun and had to wear long-sleeved clothes despite the hot weather. My skin was much darker than his. He told me that he was adopted. His parents had told him that at an early age, not bothering to hide it from him. They had told him that he would have noticed it himself – both of his parents had brown eyes, black hair and dark, spotless skin, unlike Mister Eustass who constantly was bothered by his reddish freckles. Of course, I had gotten even more curious, and had asked about his biological family. Apparently Mister Eustass had originally been born in the Scandinavian country Finland. His biological mother had resembled him ridiculously much – the same red hair, the same pale skin and the same freckles. Her name had been Marianna – I never learnt to pronounce it, neither did Mister Eustass.

From September 1986 to the half of 1993, I lived with Mister Eustass, spending every second forgetting about Doffy and learning to trust and love again. But it was in the beginning of the autumn of 1993 I got a sudden letter from Paris. I wondered how on earth someone had been able to track me down; nobody knew I was there in Marinaleda in Spain. Yet today I can't help but to wonder how on earth it reached me – maybe Doffy had been able to track me down after all but hadn't come after me and had sent the letter from Barcelona to Marinaleda. Admittedly, I don't have the slightest clue of how I ever received that letter. It just came in the mail one afternoon.

It was a long letter from one of Maman's artist friends. Maman had committed suicide a few weeks earlier and a funeral would be held in a few weeks afterwards. Apparently my mother's life had crashed after my leave – men after men had visited her apartment and the relationships had only gotten shorter and shorter. A few weeks before her death she had given birth to a baby girl; my little sister, who because of the age difference was almost like a daughter to me.

I remember blaming myself for the whole week I spent packing my things and trying to get my hands on a plane ticket to Paris. If I never had left Maman none of this would ever had happened. I would never have been the cause of her death. We could have worked things out. I could have saved her from all of her misery. But I had left her, blinded by something I had mistaken as love. I had felt so hopelessly guilty that I had felt like I was a murderer, Mademoiselle Nico.

Mister Eustass had been eager to join me to France, but I had quickly told him that it was not possible. I wanted to spare him from my mother's messy friends – some of them were ridiculously racist too. I only had been able to imagine how they would laugh at Mister Eustass' attempts to say anything in French. I didn't want that to happen. Neither did I want him to see how poor the ambient I had grown up in actually was. How miserable my childhood had been. And naturally, someone had to watch over the farm as well.

When I left at the airport, I carefully held Mister Eustass' hand for the last time, telling him I would return in a few weeks, that I would just attend to the funeral and empty Maman's apartment. I had told him this in a sincere tone, honestly believing my own words. I still remember his pale, warm hand in mine, the red eyes looking at me in a tender manner, telling me more than one million words ever could.

But I never returned.

The funeral was quite silent, and despite the lack of love for my mother, I cried the whole funeral. The tears I shed were silent and bitter. I think that most of the sadness I experienced was regret – I had never stood up for myself with Maman; never told her that I was much more than a boring, theoretical, ugly son. I cried because now it was too late to tell her that I had hated every minute in that apartment. But I also cried because I never had told her that I had wished that we could have loved each other.

I wrote letters to Mister Eustass during my stay in Paris. I told him about how spooky it was to enter my own childhood room and see it filled with stinky old wine bottles and socks left behind by strangers. I didn't tell him about the baby girl. I kind of wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to see him be enchanted by her adorableness. I had decided to take care of her. I told him about you, who had moved next to Maman's apartment, telling him that you had been kind enough to call the police several times when you had noticed that the men Maman had slept with had abused her. And of course, I told him how I loved him over and over again.

"_And remember that I love you._

_Sincerely, _

_Trafalgar Law."_

I was ready to return to Spain – I really was. But one afternoon everything I had lived for was ruined in the matter of thirty seconds.

I had been cleaning Maman's apartment, the small baby sleeping in her cradle. I had yet not named her but I called her Belle for her beauty. All I had left to organize was a pile of old papers. There were old photographs of my father, of my mother's classes and friends from her own childhood, some badly written poems she had written as a child and a handful of old letters. But among them I also found a document about adoption. Maman and my father had signed it – they had adopted a child in 1964, the same year I was born. There were details about the adoptions – my parents had filled in my name; Trafalgar Law.

I was adopted.

It made sense to me. I had always wondered how I didn't resemble Maman the slightest in any way at all. It made sense on so many levels – I could now understand what she had meant when she had said that one could barely tell we were related. Had she been sad that I hadn't been her real son? I will never know. I suspect that my father was unable to make women pregnant so they had been forced to adopt me in order to have a child of their own. I mean, Maman had apparently been able to get pregnant, inasmuch as she had given birth to the small baby.

But it was not only the fact that I was adopted that startled me, no in fact a part of me had always anticipated that, but it was the name on the paper; the name of the lady who originally had given birth to me. My biological woman was also a red-haired woman from Finland named Marianna.

Mister Eustass was my biological brother.

During that one second of realization, I felt how Earth suddenly rotated with a much faster speed than normally. I felt how gravity pulled me down and how everything became nothing and how much nothing could hurt. How could nothing hurt? It made absolutely no sense. But it hurt so incredibly much nevertheless.

After this second of great pain I was so disgusted that I rushed to the toilet and vomited for several minutes until I could not vomit again. Then I cried. I cried because I still loved him but I could not bear with the thought of ever seeing him again. My heart ached after him but my common sense roared at me to stop thinking of him. Conis, the midwife who had delivered Maman's child and who helped me to take care of the baby, found me trembling by the toilet seat. She thought I had been shocked about the adoption but in my panicked state I had told her everything.

She never told anyone.

I still got letters from Mister Eustass but I stopped replying. I automatically threw them in the fire when I saw that they were from Spain. I regret it now so horribly much. I wish I had saved them so I would have something to read here at the hospital. I still love him so much.

You are surely disgusted, Mademoiselle Nico, but the story is not over yet. I stopped loving him for many years, until I discovered a new truth, which made me love him again.

If not you and Conis had been there to support me during those times, I'm sure I would have done the same thing as Maman – end my own life. Conis reminded me about the baby, about how I would leave her completely alone without anyone to take care of her and the main focus of my life became to watch over the baby at all times.

Every day was a true pain for me. After learning to trust and love again, my trust and love had been ripped away from me with pure force. I often wondered if I had been better off not knowing about our connection. What if I never had found the document and just had gone back to Spain with the baby? We would have been a happy family. Mister Eustass would have been a wonderful father, teaching our small child about vegetables and cattle.

After a while I stopped receiving the letters. By then I had decided to name the baby. Like you know, I named her Ilona. It is a Finnish name. I don't even remember why I chose a Finnish name – at that time I had only wanted to forget about Finland and Mister Eustass and everything, and yet I underwent a long process of reading about Finland to choose a good Finnish name for the baby. Maybe I had felt that it would somehow make up for my sudden disappearance. Or maybe, I somehow felt that I had to dedicate something in honor of Mister Eustass, who had spent several years with me, helping me become the man I am today. He had helped me out from the mess Doffy had left me in.

The name Ilona is close to the words iloinen and ilo, iloinen meaning happy and ilo happiness in Finnish. And all I wanted for the baby to be was to be happy and lead a normal life unlike me. I vowed to myself to never start drinking like Maman had and instead of calling Ilona ugly and boring I would remind her of how beautiful and interesting she was every day of her life. I hope I have been able to do that.

After my disconnection with Mister Eustass I had gone numb and the only thing that made my feelings return was seeing Ilona sleep in her cradle or hear her laugh when Conis or I made silly faces at her. Whenever Ilona wasn't around, I would just sit down and stare into the void, my body completely numb and my mind number. Ilona became the only thing in my life that brought me any kind of sensations at all, and thanks to her I was able to forget all about Spain – all about Doffy and all about Mister Eustass.

One month later I saw Mister Eustass but ignored him.

He had most likely spent all of his savings to travel to Paris in order to meet me. He had even bought a huge bouquet of flowers and had been walking around in Montmartre, trying to find me. He had been wearing old, sandy sandals, shabby clothes and a big straw hat to protect his shoulders from any eventual sun. I had nearly walked up to him and taken the straw hat off his head, telling him he looked stupid. But those times were over and I didn't wish to see him anymore.

I had seen him and he had seen me but neither of us had greeted each other. He had seen me walking around with a stroller and with Conis next to me. I can only imagine how that looked like to him – I was walking with a woman, pushing a stroller forwards. He most likely felt betrayed.

I never saw him again.

After this it felt as if the page had turned and a new chapter of my life had begun. I applied to a university to properly be able to study medicine. I continued to live in the cramped apartment in Montmartre while taking care of small Ilona who took her first steps with me. I became like a father for her and she like my daughter. In fact, she does not even know that she actually is my younger sister. But she does not need to know that her real mother killed herself when she only was two weeks old.

In the beginning of this new chapter, my entire body ached and my soul felt hollow. Despite the pernicious pain I lived with, I continued my life normally, as if nothing ever had happened. I had a part-time job, studied hard and carried Ilona with me everywhere I could. You were with us too, Mademoiselle Nico, and I am endlessly grateful for the afternoons you watched over Ilona in my place, letting me catch a few hours of sleep in between my hectic life of a student and a single father.

This was the first time in my life I felt like I didn't need to be loved. I only felt like I had to love. And I loved so much that my heart told me to stop. But I could not stop. Every breath hurt but I loved her more and more and when she for the first time called me Papa I knew I was trapped with her charm forever.

In the end of 1995 I was already a doctor despite only studying for two years. I would not have been able to finish so fast if I hadn't spent all my years with both Doffy and Mister Eustass studying so much. My hard work had paid off and despite already being a well-paid doctor I continued my studies to become a surgeon. Around the same time I moved to a more luxurious apartment in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, leaving you behind. Well, we did meet each other quite regularly anyway. Ilona always regarded you as her favorite aunt who let her do 'cool' stuff. Apparently I was too strict, so it was good that you were there to let her do a little more wild stuff. I was always terrified I would accidentally hurt her.

My new life was quite enjoyable – I quickly managed to balance work and studies with the needs of little Ilona. I sat with her every night and read her books and told her about the stars and came up with silly stories to make her laugh. Before I knew it she was talking and walking and running off with friends. Then, one day I woke up and it was her first day of school. Every minute I spent with her was a true blessing – she is such a bright, wonderful child. I hope she will become an astronaut, just like she wishes to. And if she ever changes her mind, please let her know that I will always support her decisions as long as they make her happy.

Some nights I would wake up by Ilona shaking me;

"_Papa, Papa, you're crying."_

And she would ask me what I had dreamt of and I would never remember. I recall thinking it was funny; I had spent so many years forcing myself to forget that when I actively tried to remember I could not remember a single thing. During these times, I had barely remembered why I even had left France to begin with. I only could relive someone strangling me in my dreams or the smell of olive trees, but I never understood why. It is only now, during my time here in the hospital, that I have remembered everything. And my entire body has started to ache once again despite my high doses of pain killers.

These kinds of years pass quickly, Mademoiselle Nico. The years with a small child by your side feel like only a few days long, and yet you remember every second. I still can remember in what pace Ilona would breathe in as an infant, or what kind of faces she would make in her sleep. Or how her whole hand would grasp around my little finger. It is these kinds of memories that make life worth living.

On a party in 2002 I met Doffy. It was one of the strangest moments of my entire life. It was a big, fancy party in Paris. You maybe remember it, because I had asked you to watch over Ilona for the evening. It had been so incredibly odd to meet him. At first, I had not been able to remember where I had seen him before. I had been able to recognize his face and had come to the conclusion that I most definitely had seen him before, but thanks to the fact that I productively had suppressed all of my memories from Spain, it took me a good twenty minutes to remember him properly. When I finally did, I nearly fainted.

It felt ridiculous. I was way richer than him – I had developed cures for several diseases by then and had a high social status, a way higher social status than him. I had been the person everyone had been dying to meet. In every kind of measure, I was socially above Doffy.

And yet I felt tiny next to him.

It was not the height-difference that made me feel tiny. I felt mentally inferior compared to him. My body still remembered how he had violated me, how he had kissed me and how he had hit me.

"Ah, Law!" he had called out when he had seen me. "It's been a while, non?"

I had barely replied at all, making people give me odd looks. They maybe had thought I regarded myself as too superior to him to actually talk to him. In reality, I felt too inferior to actually talk to him.

Later we met at the balcony of the house. I had gone outside to get a bit of fresh air – the memories that Doffy had awakened within me made me feel sick in a way that I had not felt for several years. I desperately tried to hide my feelings, trying to hide behind the perfect façade I had built for myself for several years. The sickness had almost left my stomach when Doffy had stepped out on the balcony and had started to talk to me. He had told me how much he had missed me over the years, told me he had been wrong to treat me like he had treated me.

"I always knew you could be a good doctor, mon cher", he said and looked at me. I felt how my entire body tensed at the words 'mon cher'. I wasn't his anymore. I never had been either. "I am so truly sorry about what happened between us. I was just going through a hard time. I have improved since then. I had no right to treat you like that. Don't you think it's time for us to get back together?"

"You are quite right Mister Donquixote", I replied coldly. I had been terrified on the inside, but I did not want him to know that. "You had no right to treat me like that. And you have no right to come here and dig up the past either. Now, I have a _daughter _waiting for me at home. Good night."

I put a lot on emphasis on the word daughter to make him realize that I had moved on and had absolutely no interest in him. I did see some vivid nightmares that night, but it had been utterly satisfying to upright reject him like that. In that moment I had felt so much bigger than him.

A few years afterwards you moved back to England. I did try to write letters and e-mails to you, but I know I haven't been very diligent with that. In fact, you have been much better at remembering birthday cards and Christmas presents than I have. I apologize about that. I know an apology written on a letter like this won't mean much to you, but like this my heart will feel lighter.

Like you know, this summer (June 2006) I was to Finland for two weeks. During these two weeks Ilona visited you in England. I heard the two of you had a wonderful time together and it makes me delighted to hear that you taught her about astronomy. She loves astronomy so much, which only makes her love you even more. After my death, I wish the two of you will stay in contact. The world needs ladies like you.

I visited Finland in order to meet my biological mother Marianna and also to see what kind of country Finland is. It was quite exotic, I must say. And it was constantly bright there – apparently it is like that during the summers. The Finns told me that it is constantly dark there during the winters. How the poor people there haven't gone mad yet is a mystery for me. I can't imagine living two months in pretty much constant darkness.

In Finland I visited the forests and I was astonished by how beautiful they actually were. I thought the pictures I had seen had been edited, but the forests were actually just as magical as they were in the pictures. Marianna, whom I had gotten ahold of in March, lived in the countryside in a cottage-like house. She had told me that she wanted to discuss about the adoption face-to-face, that there actually was still another story behind it, but at the time she had been in India. She had returned in the end of May and a few weeks later I had visited her.

Together we had been to Helsinki and she had let me try her sauna in the countryside. I didn't quite understand the idea of a sauna until I sat there with her a summer evening, seeing the lake just outside the sauna. The sauna was hot and I was sweaty and bothered by the hotness, but Marianna just threw water on the stove making it even hotter and moister. _"You have to do this! It's called löyly! Every Finn does this. Isn't it refreshing?"_

And it was refreshing. When I after a long while of sweating like a pig and struggling to breathe stepped out of the sauna and swam in the warm water in the lake, I was able to feel how my tense body was a million times more relaxed. This went on for a few hours. Sitting in the sauna until one couldn't stand it anymore and then swimming in the lake to cool off.

After this the two of us sat down on the terrace to Marianna's picturesque cottage and looked over the lake. Neither of us had actually talked about the adoption very much yet, even it already had been my fifth day there.

"I called you here, because there is something you didn't know", she said. "I thought you should know. And I also thought you shouldn't just read it in a letter. It would be unfair."

"Well, I did say I wanted to come here too", I had smiled. Somehow, she seemed tense. I wondered why. Marianna, despite her quite old age, was a strong woman. She really reminded me of Mister Eustass.

And then she told me. It came smoothly, as if she had spent those five days only choosing her words. She told me my biological mother had escaped from a miserable household in Siberia in Russia. She had been raped on her escape trip and had desperately outrun her predator. Finally, she had gotten lost in the woods and had passed out next to Marianna's cottage. Marianna had helped her give birth to me and a few days later my mother had died because of a random disease. Marianna had of course told the police about the incident and everyone had agreed that the wisest thing to do had been to give me away to a caring family; Marianna had never wanted children of her own. They had signed the papers with Marianna's name; they hadn't known the whole name of the woman.

A few years later she had accidentally gotten pregnant and had decided to keep the child and give him to a charming couple he was familiar with in Spain. That child had been Mister Eustass.

In the end, I had not been the biological brother of Mister Eustass'.

That whole night I spent regretting what I had done to him – how I coldly had ignored him when he had spent all of his savings to meet me in Paris. How I purposefully had given him the wrong impression. How I had ignored all of his letters. Letting myself remember everything again, I realized that I still loved him. I loved him so much. I still do.

I still can feel his hand in mine and still can see the heartbroken look in his face.

I still can hear him whisper how he loves me.

But I cannot whisper it back.

Three days after coming home from my self-discovery trip in Finland, I collapsed at home. It was sudden. I hadn't felt any pain until then, but one afternoon when Ilona came home from being out with friends, she found me unconscious and cramping on the floor.

I was diagnosed with leukemia and the doctors also found several tumors inside of me. One week later the pain arrived and I realized I did not have a long time left.

I am currently 41 years old. In October I will turn 42. I will die before my child turns eighteen. I will never see her graduate. I will never see my grandchildren. I have somehow accepted this already. Ilona and I have discussed through this so many times, we both have cried and cried, and I am terrified. I am so incredibly terrified of how she will manage without me. And I am terrified of dying here in the hospital alone, just like Maman wished me to.

They say that a black cat has three lives. I have always regarded myself as a black cat, bringing bad luck with me wherever I go. My first life I lived with Doffy, my second with Mister Eustass and my third with Ilona. Now I'm ending my third and last life, and among all the mistakes I ever have done, there is one deed I regret more than anything else.

If it is possible, could you please deliver the letter I attached to this one to Mister Eustass? I know I will not be able to meet him before my death; it might take you several years to find him. Or maybe it only takes you two minutes. Regardless, all I wish for is for him to hear me whispering back to him.

That is my request.

Thank you for sticking around and for always listening to my selfish requests. You have been a true delight in my life. I will always cherish the memories I have with you, both as a neighbor and as my very best friend. I am sorry for not being good at delivering gifts and letters and this will most likely be my last letter to you. I wish you a wonderful life. May you be blessed with rain that smells like a new beginning and sunshine that kisses your skin.

Sincerely,

Trafalgar Law.

.

December 24th, 2006.

On a calm Christmas Eve, a man passes away in complete silence. No one notices that he is gone until a nurse comes in to check on him.

His daughter is out dining with her friend's family. She insisted on dining with her father, but he insisted that she would go and enjoy her evening.

He dies alone, like he always was afraid to do.

.

"Papá, whose grave is this?"

The man holds his son's hand and pulls him up into his arms. The woman next to him knows he never has and never will love her in the way she wants to be loved, but is content with their small family. She knows that he never will love any woman.

"It's", the man takes a deep breath and looks down at a letter," an old friend's."

The letter says: _I love you._

* * *

~Thanks for Reading Everything~


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